


a combination of possible circumstances

by magnificentbastards



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Epistolary fiction, M/M, a quid pro quo / i suppose, canon compliant (in voice if not events) with both 18th century history and hamilton the musical, no one else was in the room where it happened, rap battles as foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnificentbastards/pseuds/magnificentbastards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I confess I was taken aback – though decidedly not, let me be clear, 'lost for words'; I imagine you are as skeptical as I am as to whether such a predicament could ever come to befall me – and, grasping Jefferson's wrist in my hand to remove it from my person, thought only to respond, “Excuse me?”. To my annoyance this seemed to amuse the man, if the self-satisfied smile on his face can be taken as reliable evidence. He replied, deceptive in his geniality; “Come, Secretary Hamilton, I'm surprised you look askance; cuz surely you've heard how we close business deals in France?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	a combination of possible circumstances

**[letter from Alexander Hamilton to Angelica Schuyler Church, June 1790 – unsent]**

 

My Dearest Angelica,

I pray this letter finds you in good health, though I can barely stand to fill its opening paragraphs with asides on the topic of your (hopefully pleasant) life in London and mine (we shall see!) in New York when there are more pressing matters at hand to which I greatly desire you turn your attention. You asked me in your last letter, and please know I appreciated your keen interest more than you can imagine, to write as soon as I had news regarding the outcome of the debt assumption battle. I have news, and it is as good as we could have hoped; Madison pledges me his Virginian votes and his support for the federal assumption of state debts, in return for a pittance – our nation's political capital will be situated a few steps further south than was originally proposed. As you surmise, it is a federal victory I have won, so you may wonder where the great interest is in this story, since I have perhaps foolishly revealed the happy conclusion of the policy battle in my opening paragraph. Simply read on, I beseech you, and I promise all will become clear – indeed, I fear, clearer than we may wish.

Thomas Jefferson has, I am told, already begun to spread the rumour that he found me a half-exhausted wreck on the President's doorstep, and, moved to admirable Christian pity, invited me to debate a compromise (to save my soul, or his own? - someone's, in any case). Thus far I allow his slander – yes, you may well raise your eyebrows. I allow it because (and I certainly hope, dearest friend and confidante, that this letter will reach no eyes other than your own) some might say it casts me in a rather better light than the truth of the matter. Mr Jefferson's account is not an _inaccurate_ one in stating that the prospect of my own looming forced resignation and the nation's subsequent financial ruin had me in low spirits – to say the least – nor in stating that he proposed a dinner nominally to facilitate a civilized meeting of myself and Mr Madison, but these bare bones of narrative tell little, in fact, of the full story... I left for Mr Jefferson's dining room with President Washington's parting words for the day lodged quite firmly within my mind: “I'm not asking where you're going, Alex, so consider that Presidential deniability – you just do whatever it takes to lend your debt plan some damned credibility.”

The luxury of Mr Jefferson's house should not surprise you, nor did it me, though for all his old money I find his aesthetic taste somewhat lacking. He greeted me in the drawing room, an ironic meeting, two mirrored bows - “Mr Secretary, sir,”; “Mr Secretary, sir,” - bade me sit at his dinner table with Mr Madison, brought out food and wine – if you must know, rather a lot of wine. We talked. You are wondering at what point this story of predictable political socializing becomes particularly noteworthy, I know; be patient, if I of all men may ask such a hypocritical favour of you, as the moment at hand approaches. The Virginian gentlemen and I had drawn out terms of a compromise, the one I outlined at the beginning of this letter which has as I say come to fruition of late in Congress, but at the time the two of them still seemed to me oddly reticent, as though unwilling to sign the final agreement despite the ink drying on the page before us. Then Mr Jefferson took Mr Madison aside and, after they had spoken for a moment, Mr Madison made his excuses and quit the room. At this, I asked Mr Jefferson, “What are you playing at? Sending Madison out, just you and me – is this your attempt at intimidation?” His reply: “You presume too much, Hamilton, intimidation? - it's my attempt at securing the prosperity of our nation.”

I began my response, “Yeah, that's what I thought _I_ was doing, til you and Madison disrupted-” Hardly had I opened my mouth before Jefferson replied, “Simmer down, Mr Secretary, I don't care to be interrupted.” This alone would have been enough for me to challenge him – or perhaps simply to strike him there and then – were I not taken aback by the fact that he had rounded the table and brazenly placed his fingers upon my lips in his efforts to silence me. He continued thus: “Look, here's the situation: you're not a friend of mine, you're certainly no relation. Since we _have_ to work together to save our brand new nation, I think our acquaintanceship would benefit from some lubrication – we've both been stressed, I'm sure you're sharing my frustration – no, don't get pissed, don't raise your fist, I know you get my drift. I'd rather not write another declaration; I'm just wondering if your oral skills end at Congressional oration.”

I confess I was taken aback – though decidedly not, let me be clear, 'lost for words'; I imagine you are as skeptical as I am as to whether such a predicament could ever come to befall me – and, grasping Jefferson's wrist in my hand to remove it from my person, thought only to respond, “Excuse me?”. To my annoyance this seemed to amuse the man, if the self-satisfied smile on his face can be taken as reliable evidence. He replied, deceptive in his geniality; “Come, Secretary Hamilton, I'm surprised you look askance; cuz surely you've heard how we close business deals in France?”

I tell you, the man boils my blood; I can hardly conceive of the nerve required to decry _me_ as an insult to America while deferring at every turn to the traditions and niceties of the Old World. The situation that faced me in his house that evening, however, was one not of tradition nor of etiquette, but a challenge, a contest, certainly not one I intended to let Jefferson win. With the assumption policy and therefore – I assure you I would not exaggerate a matter so serious – the very financial future of our nation hanging in the balance, the only worthwhile defence was (as is so often the case) an aggressive offence. I will not pretend, in addition, that Jefferson's words had not riled me, that his intimations had not offended my pride; nor will I pretend, not to you in any case, that they had not intrigued me. I was spurred to action. Perhaps that is what compromise is all about.

Thus I informed the Secretary of State: “Thomas, it's real cute that you're thinking you can scare me – what, makin' up for running to Paris when things were gettin' hairy? I know you missed half the war, so I'll explain what you forgot – listen, Alexander Hamilton won't throw away _your_ shot.” I ought to have mentioned earlier that Mr Jefferson was wearing a particularly unsightly mauve greatcoat that evening. I was therefore pleased to see him divest himself of the garment, among select others, as I continued, “What you're doing isn't going to distract me, I'm single-minded in my drive and focus, I'm exact, see, Alexander Hamilton can handle a cannon an' hold a rifle by the barrel and win just about anything and hey I've gotta say I'm wondering if the fact that you're drunk'll mean you can't even get it up, you'll be the first to cry uncle, then – I'll put my mouth where your money is, sir, you ain't gettin' the better of me – yo what the hell did you expect, I run the motherfuckin' Treasury!”

I was summarily given cause to observe that Jefferson (a statesman, I remind you, not a soldier) possesses both an unexpectedly strong grip and quite uncomfortable hardwood dining-room floors. A man of my stature is naturally not _un_ accustomed to looking up at his debating partners as he negotiates with them, and Jefferson is not by any means a small man, if you get my double meaning. I hope I do not offend you with discussion of such matters, Angelica – but you are a married woman and, regardless, I imagine you are almost impossible to shock (one of many traits for which I greatly admire you). The truth is that my meeting with the Secretary of State was simply politics, _sans_ affectation, purely distilled, recognizable to anyone who has ever played a part in it: that push and pull, that give and take. The forms change but the content remains the same. In politics a quick tongue has always been a benefit. For me, the only surprising aspect was that I found myself taking Mr Burr's advice – something I swore I would sooner die than do! – although admittedly he, perhaps, had envisioned rather different circumstances in which my mouth would be stopped. Evidently the irony was not lost on Thomas Jefferson, who advised me of the same - “Talk less...” - as he pushed me to the floor.

But it is no matter. I got more than I gave. I wanted what I got.

Remember that, more than anything, as ever, I desire your good health and swift response, and I remain

Your most loving brother,

A. Hamilton

 

**Author's Note:**

> title is from [this letter](http://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-04-02-0172). sit down to read it, it'll make you blush.
> 
> i am sorry to have fallen into the sex plus political theory fanfiction niche again (is this a niche? is this just who i am now?) but, look, _i don't know how to say no to this._
> 
> had a lotta fun codeswitching between contemporary C18th epistolary writing style and canon-compliant rap verses - i haven't really seen that approach to voice/dialogue in the fic for this fandom yet so maybe it'll start a trend? i hope so. 
> 
> if you can actually rap, like, aloud, you have my blanket permission to podfic this and in fact i am begging you to do it as long as you send me a link, yeah?
> 
> if you are lin-manuel miranda, i am very very sorry.


End file.
